Inevitability
by Fall
Summary: To cope with an inevitable thing is to accept the memories it comes with. {83. Angst. Shounen-ai. Death.}


Date finished: 15 November 2003

Series: Saiyuki

Category: Angst

Pairing: Hakkai/Sanzo

Warning: PG-13 for the shounen-ai theme, and implied death.

Standard disclaimers apply.

A/N: Originally, this was a fic drabble scribbled down the back of one of my photocopied reading materials. Upon typing it however, it decided to grow into a _900+_ words fic by itself.

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"Inevitability"

by Fall

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When the last of his usual visitors have finally declared it was time to go home, he resumed his usual place beside the window, sitting on the wooden chair that had belonged to his erstwhile companion. He took the book that was lying on top of the table nearest him, and propped it open on his knees while he adjusted the hangings on the windowsill.

He would be lost in the book's pages until the early hours of dawn, upon which realization he would reluctantly put down the thick and battered book, and walk towards the next room where his bed lay.

Every night was the same old routine for him. Two friends would come by at dinner, presumably to continue the same dinner scene they had had over the years. They would both stay until ten o'clock, letting the hours pass by with their stories.

Both of his friends are married.

While one might think that Sha Gojyo wasn't made to settle down, he did, and he was actually the first one to do so. He met Iria on one of his gambling nights and had met in her someone who could manage to keep his shortcomings in check. What Hakkai could not change in his former roommate's ways, Iria didn't bother to, except perhaps that Gojyo took it in himself to discard his old habits and look for a decent job. Unfortunately, they couldn't have any children.

Goku, on the other hand, ended up with a young lady by the name of Ouka. She was quiet and the best of all chefs they know of, with a great love for food, nature and other beautiful things. She and Goku had put up a small restaurant that was now well known in their area. They have four children, all of which are boys. 

Both of them are happily married, and are living their own lives. Yet they found the time to visit Hakkai at night and keep him company to an extent. For Hakkai was all alone most of the afternoon, reading all the books that he had for company. By day, he would walk the distance from his quiet little house to the small public school in the village, where he taught several children from ages seven to twelve. Sometimes, he would have one of the older students visiting him on a fine afternoon. On the afternoons that it rained, he would just be content in gazing out of a window.

He wasn't alone; he hadn't been alone, he would say, when one of the visiting students would ask him why he chose to live in solitude. He hadn't been alone, having been able to live, albeit shortly, with someone whom he had loved better than life. Perhaps even much more so than he had loved Kanan, but that was something he could never answer.

It was something he could never answer for the two he had loved best in his life were now dead. Gone. He found out long ago that the only way to really come to terms with death, was to think of it like one would contemplate a pleasant memory—those things that one would love to remember when one sees a reminder of it.

And so every night, he would take out one particular book and read it, one that he never tires of reading. His emerald eyes would go soft and quite misty every time he peruses the first page, but by the end of the passage he would smile and think wistfully of the memories that were induced by these scribbled words:

_"When You Are Old"_

_When you are old and gray and full of sleep,_

_And nodding by the fire, take down this book,_

_And slowly read, and dream of the soft look_

_Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;_

_How many loved your moments of glad grace,_

_And loved your beauty with love false or true,_

_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,_

_And loved the sorrows of your changing face;_

_And bending down beside the glowing bars,_

_Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled_

_And passed upon the mountains overhead_

_And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. _[1]

These written words were precious to him—the only thing that Sanzo had ever bothered to write. The monk never did express any sentiment towards writing, but a surprised and pleased Hakkai once found him asleep beside the book, his inky fingers attesting the fact of what he had just done.

The things love can make you do for the one you love best. The things that love can make you feel at the moment of fatality.

It was the most harrowing seconds of Hakkai's life when he saw Kanan taking away her life. Nothing could describe the pain that he felt when he woke up to Sanzo's still form lying beside him.

Sanzo had left him while he was sleeping.

Death was inevitable, regardless of the fact whether one is a youkai or a human. It cannot be prevented by the wisest of men, by the largest amounts of wealth, or by the most pious of prayers. Not even love can prevent it from happening.

And Hakkai was aware of it.

He never showed his grief when Sanzo had left him. No one ever saw him grieve. But every night, after his usual visitors had left, he would pick up the same book that he reads every night and lose himself in it until the first wee hours of dawn.

He wasn't alone, he hadn't been alone, he would often say. He welcomed the memories rendered sad by one's mortality. Death is inevitable, and nothing can ever change it.

He would read and re-read the first page of that thick and battered book, smiling at the slightly faded ink letters, thinking of the one who had written it for him and him alone…

No one ever saw him grieve, because no one ever stayed and watched him read the precious page.

He would think of Sanzo's amethyst eyes and the way he looked at him…

And then Hakkai would grieve over his loss until the wee hours of dawn.

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—The End—

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[1] The poem used here is William Butler Yeats' "When You Are Old". I was moved by it's meaning, so I decided to write the thoughts that I had after reading this. I only thought that the poem itself would fit the mood better if it were the one that Sanzo had supposedly written on the first page of Hakkai's favorite book.

I apologize to the poet for using his piece without permission.

Review comments and constructive criticisms are welcome.


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